


More than a brick

by drcalvin



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Berlin Wall, Germany, Incest, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-05
Updated: 2010-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drcalvin/pseuds/drcalvin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the right point in history, a careless word can shatter even the strongest wall. A story about the German reunification and two personifications who want to be more than their nations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More than a brick

**Author's Note:**

> _All in all it's just another brick in the wall.  
> All in all you're just another brick in the wall._  
> \- Pink Floyd, Another Brick in the Wall

September, 1989 

  


* * *

They've been singing in his mind for weeks now. Sometimes he wakes up at night, shaking, laughing and it's a struggle not to just run off to the wall and tear it down with his bare hands. He could kiss Erzsébet , he really could and it would be only in gratitude, proper and moral and all that shit, but does she listen? Hell no.

"Your citizens can pass," she says, "but if you think to put one finger on me," and there she goes, twirling that damn frying pan again and he backs off, sorry, sorry.   
But that's just a lone mosquito in the summer of his happiness. The Iron Curtain is shaking, it's foundations are being removed one by one and he - Gilbert, East Germany, all of the DD-fucking-R – they can smell change in the air and it makes them drunk with joy.

And that's a good thing for sure, because he's been so busy during this time that he has barely had time to eat, never mind relaxing with a beer.

"I'm gonna fucking drink you out of the house, West, soon as we get settled."

Oh yeah, he'll toast Old Fritz at the Oktoberfest soon – the Bavarians won't know what hit them! Did perchance beer go well with bananas? Or was it coffee and bananas, or perhaps coffee and beer. It's been too long since he had either, but he'll have plenty of opportunity to experiment soon.

People around him look at the cackling maniac among them with curiosity, but they can all smell it – freedom, change, the wall is falling, so what if you act a bit strange? They're demonstrating and in every group he is there, shaking signs with unwavering fervor and yelling until his voice is gone. They' were protesting on the Alex just the other day; no bullets stopped them, no tanks to silence and the square is still free of blood, alive with protesters and it makes Gilbert's blood burn like not even the most spectacular battle could.

If this is what peaceful revolutions feels like, he can totally understand why the US is so gung-ho about equality and crap after his civil rights movement. And that's a good thought to remember, because soon he'll have to show the world that East Germany isn't the same war-loving, unstoppable force of superiority that Prussia was. Nope, not him, not any more. He'll be peace, beer and fluffy bunnies, 220 percent of love-thy-neighbor awesomeness!

On the topic of neighbors, Gilbert is really starting to wonder where the hell West is hiding. There's a distinct lack of big, stick-up-his-ass Western German on the foreign broadcasts he manages to catch and it's not like his brother has turned up along with any diplomatic missions. Rude little wanker better show his face soon, soon. Or someone will have to teach him that dissing your big brother when he's having a crowning moment of kick-ass can make a world war or two seem like nothing in comparison.

* * *

  


November, 1989 

  


* * *

"Mr German Democratic Republic!"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. Everyone except the official toadies just called him East nowadays. Alright, Russia sometimes had a bit of fun with his "Comrade Prussia" crap, but that twisted bastard was thiiiiiis close to being out of his hair, so fuck him anyway.

"Whaddya want now?"

"You are to carry a message to information secretary Schabowski for tonight's press conference." The flunky checked his note and continued stiffly. "They also wish you to appear with him at the press conference, to show the world that the rumors of our proud republics imminent collapse are false."

Gilbert grabbed the letter and eyed it quickly. "Collapse? Me? I haven't felt better in a hundred years," he grumbled and waved off the annoying little man's continued whining.

What people, heck, even some nations didn't understand was that as long as you weren't crushed in all-out war, there was no need to just give up and die. A nation is as long-lived as an idea and if ideas change and develop over the centuries, well, that's just progress isn't it? And there was at the moment no idea Gilbert could conceive of being better than him. Hah, as if!

Tonight's press conference would be broadcast live, they'd told him. If West wasn't there – and he still hadn't done more than send a few carefully worded letters, the little bastard! – he was at least bound to watch it.

"Effective tomorrow? What kind of wimpy-ass measure is that?" Gilbert muttered as he read the brief directive about travel through the Berlin checkpoints.

Actually, wouldn't it be much cooler if he could surprise his stupid little brother? Hell yeah. Besides, one day more or less didn't matter in the big scheme of things anyway. Alright, there were a couple of days that had in retrospect turned out to be quite important, but that was usually because unexpected things happened on them and since everyone was just waiting for the checkpoints to open anyway, they probably wouldn't complain too much afterward.

Many years ago, Gilbert had been gratified to receive a beautiful silver letter knife from Old Fritz and he had kept it well (and well-sharpened) through more political upheavals and bosses than he cared to count. Now the knife came to good use, when Gilbert took a few moments in an empty corridor to neatly slice off the bottom lines of the letter.

He made sure to personally hand the letter to Schabowski and was just about to leave; yes, yeees, he'd be back before the cameras started rolling, this would only take a moment... when he spotted a familiar curl of hair sticking up from the press crowd.

"Italy! Man, it's been a while, what are you doing here?"

"East Germany!" The smile on the Mediterranean's face was bright like the sun rising over a turquoise sea and, even if he knew it hid a mind empty as a seagull, Gilbert thought he could see where his brother's fondness for the silly little man originated.

"I'm just on my way out but – oof!" With a hitherto unknown skill for surprise attacks, Italy tackled him to the floor and (in front of the world press! Argh!) gave him a big, wet kiss on the cheek and then proceeded to hug him with the determination of a deranged octopus.

"_Italy!_ Get off me, you pasta-brain!"

"But Germany has been missing his brother so much-"

"Eh?"

"-and I know what it's like to be apart from your family but now you'll be together just like Italy Romano and I and it's all so wonderful-"

"Yes, but-"

"and Germany doesn't dare to be here to hug you when I know he wants to so I do it for Germany since we promised to help each other out of pinches-"

"You did?"

"-and I know he wants to hug you but he's like my brother and is too shy and it would be too sad if it becomes like he fears but I'm sure you'll be hugging each other soon and-"

Since it was apparently impossible to shut the Italian up by interrupting, Gilbert was forced to take more direct action. A gentleman is always prepared, and Gilbert had been preparing since before the concept of gentleman existed. So he simply stuffed his handkerchief in the Italians endlessly yapping mouth. In the time it took for Italy to spit the fabric out, Gilbert managed to escape his grasp with most of his dignity intact.

"'scuse us a moment, we're renewing our diplomatic relations," he managed to get out through gritted teeth as he dragged the still babbling Italian away from the curious eyes.

"Alright, Italy," he said and glared down at the sitting nation with as much intimidation as he could manage, "what exactly is this about West missing me? I have barely heard a word from the bastard since this mess started, only from his boss!"

Italy's eyes grew wide and he seemed on the verge of bawling, which was just out of the question, because Gilbert hated people crying and he'd never learned how to comfort them, except if it was Austria lying defeated on the battlefield. Then he knew what to do – gloat! Besides, tonight was to be a good evening dammit!

"Look, Italy, you can actually help me reunite with my brother faster," he said in a low, conspiratorial whisper.

Italy perked up at once. "I can help Germany and Germany?"

"Yep," he nodded and tried to look serious, "you see, there's a question I would be very happy if someone could ask in this press conference. But due to, uh, stuff I can't order any of my guys to do it."

Because if they figure out that I've been messing with that letter someone may wonder how many other papers I've 'edited' over the years and we don't really want that, Gilbert very carefully did not say.

Eager like a puppy who's been given his first proper task, Italy clapped his hands and nodded. "Sure! I can tell my reporters to ask your question, East Germany. What is it?"

"Ohhh, it's a very simple one, not even you can forget it!"

* * *

Gilbert was standing at Checkpoint Charlie, waiting for the eager masses he was sure to come any moment now. Even if they'd been held up a few moments looking for him, a message of this importance couldn't be delayed and then... well, let's just say thank heaven for live broadcasts, because things were about to explode and no little pencil pusher at the information bureau would have time to censor this. Imagine is the pope had possessed radio towers, that would've shown that rebellious Luther a thing or two.

The border guards gave him somewhat suspicious looks, but Gilbert made sure to always keep a proper distance from the Wall. Most of the older ones were used to an albino hanging round the checkpoints anyway, someone had told him once that it had even become a bit of a game and an urban legend to fool the rookies. (When Gilbert first heard that, he dug up some of his more obviously war-damaged old clothes and began jumping out from doorways and stuff during full moon. Then the bastards cleared the area close to the wall.)

But even when he didn't have border guards to play with, hell, even before he'd gotten so fed up with this set of bosses that he decided to join the secret anti-government group, the wall had drawn him like a pale moth to a dark flame.  
First it was just to look, to feel the thrill of the forbidden and bare his teeth at the shadows of America, France and England that hovered over his brother. Then, increasing so slowly that he barely noted it himself, it became a longing. For his brother, for the freedom he knew they enjoyed there, on the other side.

He'd spent bloody years staring at that wall and by now, there were standing orders to leave him alone. A few months after they realized who and what made up the pale ghost that haunted East Berlin's border areas, not even the STASI could be bothered to tug his leash and stop him (as long as he wasn't drunk and tried to sin old Prussian army songs). Even if some of those early months had contained some rather intense attempts at re-indoctrination, of which a couple of mementos still ached in cold weather...

Perhaps it was the dark memories that made Italy's words play in his head again, because surely it couldn't be that he actually shared West's fears. Hah, ridiculous!

"Germany really wants to become one with you, East Germany. But Ludwig is afraid that he'll lose Gilbert if you do rejoin."

It wasn't exactly unusual for smaller national entities to merge into a new one that mostly resembled the dominating part once they were joined. Gilbert had seen it happen plenty of times, never considering that he may one day be at risk to be on the wrong end of a merger. He'd also been around long enough to see the even more disquieting process when the representation of an occupied people faded, ending up a new part of the conqueror and that, well, there at the end of 1945 he'd have some rather horrible nightmares concerning how Russia would look with a pair of red-tinted glasses.

But in this case? First of all, he was way older than West so if anyone should disappear it ought to be his stupid little brother (even if the brat had grown pretty big over the years), and second and most important, he was just too great for a wimpy end like that. Not to mention that those Italy brothers managed to hang around though they were well unified.

Still – everyone thought that West Germany was the "real" Germany, which was totally unfair and all because of that interfering Russian bastard. As far as Gilbert was concerned it was no fault of his awesome landmass for the way his people tried to sneak, drive and climb out of him, no way.

The sound of many feet on the pavement woke Gilbert from his moody thoughts. Sometime during these last minutes, his pulse had quickened and when he glanced down at his hands, they were clenched tight, trembling with barely held-back eagerness. It was beginning. And- fuck it, he was in the wrong place!

"Have these people no sense of drama!" Gilbert complained to the uncaring night as he left the most famous checkpoint and took off towards the northern parts of Berlin at a tight sprint. Yes, there, this way, he could feel the stream of people leaving in a delicious blend of pleasure and pain.

It hurt, it hurt to know that his days as the German dream of a workers state was ending, but he'd been living in the ruin of that broken nightmare too long to care what exactly it would mean for him personally.

As East Germany he'd become closer to his people, turned further from his rulers than the feared war-hound Prussia could ever have dreamed and so his strongest emotion was hope and soaring joy. Freedom was in their hands, they need only to take hold! And Gilbert had always grasped the future with both hands and he was damned if he wasn't going to take this future too, take it down kicking and screaming until things happened the way he liked them to.

When he reached the border control at Bornholmer Street, Gilbert's breath was labored, and he was almost sure that it was emotion and not a coming heart attack that made his heart feel as if it was about to burst. He took a few moments to collect himself and leaning towards a building flaking color, he looked upon the milling throng at the foot of the bridge, the Bösebrucke. When he noticed that more and more people were being let through, he smiled, straightened and dove straight into the crowd..

Perhaps another nation would have tried to behave with a bit more dignity, but he too had a family member waiting (he'd better be!), and so Gilbert used all of his old dirty tricks to push ahead until he ended up at the front of the crowd of hopefuls that were waiting to cross the bridge into West Germany.

"We need to stamp your passports!" a harassed-looking border guard called. "Take out your passports!"

There was no passport issued in the name of Gilbert Beilschmidt, citizen of the German Democratic Republic. He hadn't even bothered to ask, because right from the start he knew his bosses feared what would happen if they gave their nation too much freedom. Still, he presented his empty hand to the guard who just stared at it, baffled at the audacity of the request, before turning towards the owner of that hand with a sharp retort at the ready.

The guard met burning red eyes and a sword-sharp smile, eyes that told of wars and death and survival. This, they told him, this is a man who just won't give up fighting even after he's been trampled in the mud, because the ecstasy of resistance will always overrule the ache of struggle.

Without a word, without a thought beyond following those fierce eyes wherever they would turn, the guard stamped the empty hand and East Germany was no more. Oh, sure there was paperwork to fill out, a bunch of former bosses to pension off and it would probably take a while before the entire country had understood what was going on, but those were mere details. Petty little things of the human realm. The knowledge that his end was inevitable filled Gilbert to bursting as he raced over the bridge, leaving behind the shadow of a country which was bleeding citizens through more and more openings.

There were so many people on the other side, crying, laughing, singing people. The westerners had been waiting, they held up signs and waved and he grinned at them and clasped a few hands. But while they too were his people, in a complicated way that he was nevertheless prepared to fight for, they weren't who he longed to meet.

As seconds turned to hours, as the joy around him only grew, Gilbert felt as if his heart was slowly being dipped in ice. He wasn't there? How could he not be here!

Back to Checkpoint Charlie, racing towards Brandenburg Gate as the sun rose and showered the entire fucking day in golden rays,

"He's afraid," Italy's voice whispered in his mind, and Gilbert gritted his teeth hard enough to hurt as he realized exactly why West didn't show up. How dare he, how dare he make that decision!

As if two brothers avoiding each other would be enough to stop East Germany fading away if that was what history fate had decided. As if he, alone, was to determine what was going to happen to the East.

There was no one at the gate either, or rather, there were way too many fucking people but not the nation his soul was burning to meet with.

"FUCK YOU, you cowardly little shit!" Gilbert screamed and then it just wouldn't stop, the years of pain and longing welled out of him, took voice in a scream of rage, of sorrow, of still being denied...

All over Berlin, the crowds felt the rage and sorrow wash over their day of joy. But the people's will was an unstoppable force this time, and though it swelled for a moment, the happiness of the day was deep like the sea. It turned in the end towards that puny symbol of oppression and as more and more people crossed the Wall, the first hands gripped sledgehammers while the wish to hit, to break, to destroy was turned towards that offensive memory of repression.

Gilbert didn't hear them, he couldn't see them, he could only scream and feel their freedom (his death), and it was breaking him apart. Let it come then, let him break, shatter like the wall.

"Brother."

A whisper, and a touch on his cheek, and he was turning and there. Finally.

"Oh, brother, brother..."

West looked fine, healthy and strong, not the wreck he had last seen, nor the maniacally striving soldier he'd known during the war. This was just a man who had struggled to rebuild, who'd possessed the sense to accept helping hands and managed to stand up after a crushing defeat.

He too was shaking, his blue eyes suspiciously bright. But West smiled and he appeared unable to stop touching, as if he needed to stroke Gilbert's face to make sure he was really there. It was enough to make one melt, and if East Germany had been a foppish Austrian he would surely have fallen into his brother's arms then and there.

There was however such things as too little and in particular too fucking late...

"You asshole!"

So East's hands found West's neck on their own and he was going to teach that non-showing little creep what it meant to ignore Gilbert Beilschmidt!

West made some gargling noise that probably meant 'please let me go, oh spectacularly forgiving big brother', yeah, it had better mean that unless he wanted to be buried beneath the falling Iron Curtain.

"Did you say, sorry for not being at the first crossing to meet my only living family member, hmm, little Ludwig?"

"Glarck!"

"Yeeees, just what I thought."

Busy as he was gasping for air, West didn't protest when he was dragged back east, to the relatively speaking more secluded area beneath the Brandenburg Gate (secluded compared to the area exactly by the wall, where people were climbing it and yelling and just overall being people silly with happiness.)

Here, beneath the shadow of the historical monument, Gilbert finally let his brother go completely and the taller German immediately collapsed in an undignified heap against the base of a pillar.

"Gah- have you," West broke off to take a gulp of air, "completely lost your, ahh, your marbles, brother?"

"Have I..?" His fist hit the monument with a loud smack, and that was good, he needed a bit of distraction or the German reunification would end when he tried to unscrew his brother's thick head and he didn't really want that. Okay, he wanted that but he'd just take it a little bit off! Barely any blood-loss at all and perhaps he'd leave room for some fucking sense!

"Here I've been looking for you night and day, and you ask if I have lost it? Where the hell were you!"

He should have covered it better, Gilbert realized as Ludwig winced at the raw pain in his voice, real men didn't show weakness. But. But real empires didn't look forward to their own fall and when had he ever cared what the rest of the world thought, anyway?

"I thought you'd be happy that we could be together again," he whispered and fell to his knees beside the other Germany, perhaps soon the only Germany people would acknowledge. "Didn't we both want this?"   
Don't you want me, he didn't ask, don't you need me as much as I finally realized I need you?

"I do," West rasped. "There's nothing I want more."

Those blue eyes were tearing up again, and he looked so goddamn beautiful sitting there with his hair all messed up and his crooked tie that couldn't hide the bruises from Gilbert's fingers and, oh fuck, where did that guilt come from? Shoo, that bastard deserved this for disappointing his elder brother!

"I'm sorry," West began haltingly, "I was just afraid of what would happen. And they asked me to stay in Bonn until we had official documentation for everything. But," he continued quickly before Gilbert had the chance to share his opinion on where 'they' could stick their official documents. "Italy turned up, earlier than I've ever seen him be awake." Ludwig's hand found Gilbert's and squeezed softly. "He told me you'd been looking for me since yesterday and I realized that, that ..."

"That you were being a stick in the mud and a complete and utter moron again, right?"

West shrugged and smiled and that was good enough for Gilbert. Explanations were overrated anyway, he was a man of action!

"Great!" he said, "Then we'll celebrate!"

"I told everyone that the beer's on me today," West said happily, and made to rise. Though Gilbert was definitely interested in taking him up on that offer, 'cuz free beer? Awesome! Even so, his traitorous mouth and hands had very different ideas.

Nobody would ever call West tanned, but against his splotchy red face, East's fingers looked ghostly white. And before the surprised nation could ask what his brother wanted now, he captured those forbidding lips with his own and suddenly he was crawling all over Ludwig's fancy brown suit, probably leaving all kinds of stains because he had been wearing this uniform for far too long and it was all sweaty and crap but who gave a fuck about that?

Especially when West moaned and drew him near, when his hands came up to cradle Gilbert's head closer and they eagerly deepened the kiss. Very especially when West's legs fell apart so he was laying right on his brother's vital regions and oh dear, the brat had grown into one fine specimen of man indeed.

"You sure bout this?" West asked, but then they were kissing again, and he could feel the salty taste of sweat and dust mingle on their lips, and there didn't really seem a point in answering.

"Fuck yeah, unification," Gilbert growled, nipping on West's neck, adding a new type of bruises to the collection already there. This made West gasp in a delicious way, but he was squirming too, and soon his hands found their way beneath Gilbert's uniform jacket.

"Uhn, I think, this wasn't what they mea- ah!" The blue of his eyes were nearly swallowed by dark pupils Gilbert ground their crotches together.

"Listen to your brother," Gilbert none-too-gently bit Ludwig's chin, before turning back to his lips, sucking and nibbling at them while his brother shivered and moaned beneath him, "and stop thinking."

Ludwig was laughing again, the cocky little shit. His hands, fiddling with Gilbert's belt, were shaking with mirth but still he soldiered on with true with true German determination. "Yes, sir!"

They said little after that, touches and kisses showing their feelings more eloquently than any words ever could. Hidden from the midday sun and the eyes of the crowd by only the shadows of a great monument, the brother nations touched each other after too many years, rediscovering each other and living out the feelings of their people.

Gilbert had plenty of recent training for covert operations to fall back on, and he'd unveiled Ludwig's top secret areas before the other had even finished pulling his belt free of the loops. One hand pinching a nipple, he let his other wander down to stroke Ludwig's cock. His dear brother gasped and buckled beneath this assault, but was unable to force him to back down.

"Let me," West moaned and tugged at his clothes, and Gilbert was happy to comply with his request, though he wasn't so eager to get out of his pants (yet) that he was prepared to let go of Germany.

They kissed again, so many times, and each kiss was hot enough to scorch what little was left of Gilbert's sanity from his mind. At least that was the only explanation he could give himself for why he moved away from Ludwig's grasping, stroking hands (when they just managed to get him out of his underwear too!)   
But as he slid down the others body, and heard Ludwig's sweet pleas, saw the way his brother spread his legs and lifted that hot cock towards him, he realized he knew what he was doing after all.

Oh, so gratifying to hear West give one strangled shout as his mouth fastened on the his eager sex! Even better to taste him, to tickle his firm stomach and kneed that ass that Gilbert had secretly been lusting after for over a century. Small noises kept escaping, despite Ludwig's struggle to keep silent and his hands could only clench white hair, helpless in the face of such a spirited assault.

When Gilbert's own needs became too demanding, he took his brother all the way down for a short moment, before oh-so-slowly releasing his cock and looking up. Beautiful, his brother. Debauched, unmade, wonderful.

It was the work of a moment to shrug out of his open uniform jacket and climb on top of West and before he thought too much about it (thinking had never been his strength anyway) he lowered himself down on that tempting saliva-slick cock.

"ShitOWfuck!"

"Wait," Ludwig said in a strangled voice, though his hips jerked interestingly beneath Gilbert's ass.

What, wait? Him? No goddamn way, Gilbert had been waiting for this too long already.   
"Just gimme a moment," he managed, and lifted himself up before pressing down, ignoring the burning, intruding pain. Ahhh, he was going to burst apart.

Then West jerked him up, off, and he barely had time to give his brother a hurt look before he was cradled close to the broad chest. A comforting rumble came from West, while he gently stroked Gilbert's ass in a way that the latter would have protested against if it didn't make him feel all tingly and stuff.

"You don't have to rush in like a fool every time," the uppity bastard dared to say, before gently turning Gilbert's face upward and then, instead of the expected kiss, West very pointedly began sucking on two of his own fingers.

Oh. Gilbert felt his eyes go wide and he shuddered in anticipation. Oh... What had his brother been doing with that Italian anyway?

When Ludwig's finger's entered him, Gilbert tensed up again, but soft lips quickly found his, teased them open and invaded with an irresistibly gentle tongue. The fingers moved carefully, and his brother's voice was whispering all kinds of silly mush against his face, every word bringing with it a hot puff of breath. It was all uselessly soft and awkward but still proved so distracting that he found his sharp, shallow breathing deepen into moans of pleasure.

At Ludwig's eager prompting, he took both their cocks in his hand, stroking and squeezing them, and oh holy mother of god, no wonder they thought this was a sin. Somehow West managed to fit half a hand inside of him and it didn't hurt, it was just too fucking good. He was whimpering , now, begging in a most dishonoring way, but since his brother was also babbling and humping Gilbert's leg with his face all twisted in concentrated pleasure, West was probably too busy to notice anyway so that's all right then..

This time, when he took West's length inside of him, the discomfort was easily forgotten in the face of intense pleasure. A short moment to gather himself, take deep calming breaths, only they made the hot invader feel ever so much more intensely present. His brother's strong hand on his cock, sweet lips meeting his, they were giving him strength and showing him need in equal measures... Oh, he loved the taste of desire. Now they were moving together, a perfect fit.

There was a steadying hand on his hip hips that helped him lift up, but soon enough it was pushing him down, harder with ever time and oh yeah, now this part Gilbert knew well. He moved and panted and just fucked like tomorrow was his last day on earth (this tended to be a possibility whenever Gilbert got laid. If he ever remembered it when not half-mad with ecstasy, he might become a bit worried)

And now that bastard Ludwig was sucking on his collarbone and why had nobody told him how awesome it is to have someone suck your collarbone while they're buried to the balls in your ass? That sinful mouth moved to his neck and began licking, and soon West was babbling about love and desire and well fuck, it just turned him on like hell to hear his repressed little brother let it all out like that. So he tried to show exactly how much he appreciated it by clenching his ass and throwing his head back and just ride West until they both lost all sense and thought.

Soon Ludwig was helpless beneath him, an incoherent prisoner to his own pleasure and Gilbert was just yelling, cursing like the old soldier he was because fuck, oh fucking piece of heaven mustn't stuck to that cock, this was too much!

They were finally together and everything that had been, everything that would come could go to hell because today Germany was celebrating and he wanted to take Ludwig deeper inside, until they didn't know where one started and the other began.  
As that delicious burn became too much, they were both sobbing and clinging to each other, then, finally, they screamed together and Gilbert came like a whole fucking revolution.

* * *

There were things he had to do, places he had to go and a whole bunch of people he had to talk to... but for just a little while Ludwig Beilschmidt wanted to simply be. Lie here on the hard ground and float on the soft clouds of emotion that carried him along.

So this was what being whole, united and at peace felt like? He could get used to it, he really could...  
"Hey, East?" That many warm feelings needed to be shared, even if the person he wanted to share it with was liable to destroy the moment as soon as he opened his big mouth. Though right now, even a silly argument sounded just peachy as far as Ludwig was concerned, because he planned to spend the next hundred years getting annoyed with his brother and then fuck him into sweet submission when he just couldn't stand it anymore and there's no time like the present, correct?

Opening his eyes, however, seemed a bit too much like work right now. So he reached out for the brother who must be lying around here somewhere pretty damn close since his presence was like a steady thrum in Ludwig's soul. Close, but not close enough, because right now he just wanted to hold him tight for as long as he was allowed.

When he found no sated body near his own, Ludwig was finally forced to open an eye.

There was nobody there, no gently smiling brother... well, he'd be shocked at finding that any day. No, a howling demon of mischief was more what he expected. But anyway, the brother who should be there - the one whose natural pallor ought to be stealing away his earlier blush of pleasure, and with it all his softness. That one was nowhere to be seen, either.

"East? Gilbert?"

Germany felt a twinge of unease, until he recalled the rash promise of free beer. Not like his brother is the most mushy person around anyway. Yes, that must be it. Off to the nearest beer hall then, and try to catch up with Gilbert who is probably trying to drink the west dry all on his own.

Since his tie was quite ruined anyway (and not even Ludwig feels the need to wear a tie when he's planning to get plastered) he used it to wipe off the worst mess before sitting up to see where his pants had ended up.

But something, be it the movement, or that little twinge of pain in the wrong place, or the fact that there's not even a trace of another body ever having laid here beside his own... something told him things were seriously wrong.

Ludwig was familiar with that mellow ache from a number of experiments with an old ally. But should he feel that pain now? No.

And then, as he shook his head to clear away the confusion and another old familiar thing which was, somehow, even more wrong appeared.

It's a cross. It tumbled off his chest where it must have gotten stuck with sweat or rather, he hopes it's only sweat. But it puzzles him, because this cross that was once so familiar – he hasn't worn it for years, has he?

When his fingers reached up, when they touched the chain and cross, they confirmed what memory suggested. There are subtle differences in weight and texture and Ludwig knows. He hasn't worn this cross since the war. He hasn't.

And so, all the little details Germany's mind wouldn't acknowledge broke free; the hair, he knows without looking, it's become two shades lighter. The voice, subtly older, hoarser, the self which suddenly contains strange foreign parts.

And how disquieting isn't that? Like finding unknown depths in the little lake you're your childhood and as the knot in his chest draws ever tighter, Germany realizes that these depths contain sharks.

Hesitant hands move over his belly, feeling how the old, healed over scar of the Saarland has become the deeper scar of East Prussia, with Königsberg as a dull pain to this very day.

Perhaps this realization was the key, because as steadily as the wall in his lands has been breaking apart these last months, the wall in his mind is torn down. Ludwig cries out in shock as his mind is filled with memories of another time, another life. Memories which are nevertheless his, Germany's, now.

Finally a country both united and at peace. Wealthy and whole. In his head, there's a recent memory of cocky smirk beneath fearless red eyes as Gilbert sketches an ironic bow. For he is not really leaving, now is he? No, East is closer than he ever was before, while the pale memory of a once great nation bows out from the world stage as the curtain of history prepares to drop.

"BROTHER!"

They promised him! Italy said it wouldn't happen! And, and Gilbert can't just give up! Of all the selfish pricks in his world, isn't his brother the least likely to just fade away into memories?

Most of Germany is still full of gratitude; all the parts made up of his people and his bosses sing with joy. But, in every nation there is something more. The self that makes him _Ludwig_, which orders all his conflicting parts into one coherent being... that self is crying in anguish beneath a monument while the world sings around him.

Unified. Whole.

Wretchedly alone.

Such are the rules for nations. He knows, now clearer than ever before. He ought to be happy that they had this last time together, that their union was such a peaceful event without more bloodshed and strife.

No, his mind tells the world, the memory, the brother that ought to be but isn't, no! I will not!

Everything in Ludwig refuses, and his hands scratch madly at the old stones, searching for his brother, the one who promised to remain. Prussia has gone. The DDR is fading, but Gilbert is not allowed to go!

In his mind, that pale face is twisting in familiar anger and Germany knows that here the seeds of future antipathy, of jealousy and misunderstandings are sown by his own egoistical hand. Yes, there are rules and he has followed them all his life.

So can he not break them, just this once? Didn't their people already break all the rules in this world, for them to be able to come together in the first place?

Without further thought, without any thought at all but driven by the deepest, most selfish need, Germany rips the cross off his neck. There's a wrench in his soul which will most likely echo through the years to come, but the pain and the future is nothing as Germany tears himself apart once again.

"Brother!"

Let me keep you, let me be with you, let us stay together just a little while longer...

There ought to be a sound, perhaps a clap of thunder. For how can destiny bend and break against the will of one being in complete silence? But no, only the mindless pigeons are there to witness how two that were briefly one is now two again. Two again, but different – not enemies, not strangers in all but name, but two who have fought to come together even as the times kept them apart. Brothers.

They're sweaty and dirty, but now they are both here, sitting opposite each other in the shadow of the monument and... West can't help it, he just has to laugh. Because his brother, his dear brother, is sitting there without a thread on his body and wearing the most furious face one could imagine. So what if his lips are still swollen from kisses or his hair looks as if it has recently housed a whole flock of chickens? He is still wearing that beautifully proud sneer that only Gilbert knows how to pull off. He'll probably start yelling any moment now and Ludwig? Oh, he can't wait to hear it.

"That was goddamn stupid, West!" he begins, but then his eyes are drawn to a broken necklace and he positively quakes with rage.   
"Look what you did to my cross!" Gilbert snatches it from the ground and protectively holds it close. "I got this from the bloody pope, didn't you think of that?"

If he could, Ludwig would like to tell him that he knew that perfectly well. When their eyes met, though, something stuck in his throat, choking both laughter and any comforting words. Now, he finds that he just can't speak, all words have escaped his mind, and when Gilbert continues to rant he does what he's wanted to do since he woke up alone beneath the Brandenburg Gate. So he grabs this infuriating, lovable, dear man and (thank god) that makes him shut up.

He holds him, his brother, who's always twice as much trouble as he's worth, holds him as if he could keep him forever. He will, no doubt, continue to be a pain in the ass to poor Ludwig for as long as there's even one German left in the world.

And if proud old Prussia, the steely-tough former DDR, notices that his brother is crying like a child, well, it might just be that he's too busy crying himself to criticize in just this particular moment.

So they stay for a while, West and East, holding each other close. Then Gilbert is softly kissing his brow, like he would do when a much younger Germany woke up, crying about nightmares about great shadowy empires tearing him apart.

"I was willing to give it up," East whispers, "to just stop for your. No, for our future. You know?"

"I know," West whispers, "I remember. No more east or west, just Germany."

He more feels than sees his brother's nod. "Just Germany."

"I've been Germany on my own," Ludwig begins, but falters. Gilbert squeezes his arm.

They both remember the dark years when Ludwig grew so drunk on his strength that he confused power with right. All the while, a Prussia made feeble by the loss of his land lay sleeping in a near-forgotten bunker, until the bitter despair of overwhelmed Germany called him to join the final hopeless battles.

"It's pretty overrated," Ludwig finally says.

"Heh. Certainly didn't stop you from doing stupid shit," Gilbert says, and their hands find each other. The world that was briefly out of balance snaps back into it's familiar old ways. "I guess someone like you just can't cut it, eh?"

Ludwig snorts and pulls back a bit. "I don't know if I'd go that far..."

His brother, true to form, is no longer listening. "So, it's a good thing you've got this awesome spirit of the east to keep you on the right path!" He's wearing the grin of a madman again and there's a disquieting glint in his eyes, which West really ought to remember to watch out for.

"Haaa! Surprise attack!"

Their teeth clash together quite painfully and Ludwig hits his head on the base of a column, but they're kissing and it will all be okay, it will! If someone whispers thank you against someone elses lips, well, nobody can ever prove anything and Gilbert will kick their hoity-toity Wessie ass if they even try. Ludwig was probably just hallucinating from pure awesome overload anyway.

* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> \- Originally posted to the Hetalia Kink-Meme  
> \- According to Wiki, it was an Italian reporter who asked for clarification about when the new rules about free travel would come into effect...  
> \- More information about [secretary Schabowski](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schabowski).


End file.
